Bad Poetry
by MmeDeMerteuil
Summary: It all started with a bad poem found lying around at the cistern; Joie, the Dragonborn and a Nightingale, had no way of knowing just how out of control it would end up being. A fic born from a cracky prompt at the SKM, which starts out silly, and turns a lot more serious in later chapters. Mercer/fDB, implied Brynjolf F/DB. Rated M for language and sexuality.
1. Bad Poetry

The young Breton breathed in. Then out. In, out, in, and out again. She tried counting to ten, but the sheet of paper, handwritten with care, remained where it was, fluttering cheekily in the wind as if to remind her that no matter how violently she got rid of it, the mere fact that someone had written it meant more would come. Just like this one.

_The Dragonborn lay there, eyes alit with lust as the conjured creature knelt over her with predatory grace, bringing a hand down to spread her folds as if to show her Daedra lover the way to her pleasure. It grinned, sharp fangs gleaming dangerously in the fire's light, and started teasing her entrance with calculated patience, its monstrous girth pressing lightly against her without penetrating her, only granting her brief, gentle strokes she couldn't believe that fierce warrior was capable of. It was such maddening pleasure… her mind wandered to the possibility of being caught between two of such beings, and her lips quivered …_

Before the filthy piece of work got to her head, she snapped it off the notice board, and stuffed the blasted thing into her bag. It had all started when the Bard's College had announced their decision to put up an anonymous board where anyone could write whatever they wished, to encourage the creativity of their young students. Even outsiders could write pieces and expose them, which could've been an interesting exercise, if the world wasn't so filled with gutter-minded individuals. Coupling that with the unhealthy interest people had taken in her personal life after she had been publicly addressed as the legendary Dragonborn… it shouldn't have come as a surprise that more than half the notes on that board were pornographic. And involved her as the main character.

At first some of the professors had protested, and tried to stop the offending pieces from being publicly displayed, but whatever they put down was put back on in a matter of days, and people had even started requesting increasingly perverted stories and poetry. Joie's lips thinned, and she tapped her foot nervously, scanning the sheets of paper for more. Some of them were even dangerously close to the truth…

She turned around, hoping the damned things would just stop existing if she stopped looking at them, only to see that Erik was staring at her, his whole rigid stance indicating that he was trying very, very hard not to burst out laughing, and that badly disguised grin was the best thing he could give her – if he wanted to stay alive, of course. He could always give up, but he suspected she would use him as target practice, and that wasn't something he looked forward to. Still, her anger didn't seem to be directed at him, for the moment, and she just shrugged, in a feeble attempt to appear calm and rational. "And that's one less of them."

Erik chose not to reply, fearing that any words from his mouth would sound dangerously like a chuckle, and nodded, trying not to picture the scenes written on those papers. But failing to. Hopefully she wouldn't look between his legs…

One had involved four Priestesses of Dibella teaching Joie of the ways of their goddess with a remarkably practical approach. Another showed her pleasuring a "fictional" Jarl whose name and appearance reminded them too much of Balgruuf to be a mere accident. A particularly badly written series of stories was all about her _naughty, naughty_ adventures with a bunch of unnamed criminals in Riften, and, despite the ridiculous exaggerations, Joie had to admit that a couple of the things described in those were actually true, and the descriptions of the guild members were rather spot on. Except for a wildly unrecognizable Vipir, who would've been a gift to Tamriel had he really possessed half the talents the stories attributed him. She planned to kick him into the pool repeatedly once she got back – no arrows in the knee for him, though, since he'd had the decency to keep Brynjolf out of it. Although that had probably been only out of self-preservation.

"Do you realize what I have to come back to?! I even had to postpone my vengeance on Mer – on an _unbelievable asshole_ to come here in Solitude and put an undead queen back to sleep before she ruined everyone's day! And this is what I find when I come back! I get no respect! No respect at all!" She complained, at first trying to keep her voice low, but frustration and anger quickly turned her mutters into a full blown tantrum, complete with gesturing and stomping her feet.

"It must be pretty hard for you", Erik tried, cautiously, even though all he wanted was to hold his stomach and start rolling on the floor laughing. Or find the nearest tavern room and spend some time with himself. One or the other.

"It is! Remember the one about me defeating all of the dragons in Tamriel by _fucking them_?"

"That was especially… creative…"

"I had nightmares for days after that! And then there was one with racy Dunmeri lingerie and me and Jarl whatshername – "

"Elisif, Joie, her name is Elisif, and it was actually Aldmeri…"

" – doing all sorts of _oh Sweet Nocturnal Erik don't tell me you still remember them all?!l_"

"… Oh, look, it seems you missed one!"

Some god or another had to be watching over him, he couldn't possibly be so lucky. The paper he had randomly pointed to was indeed of interest to her even though she had missed it on her first search. He saw her narrowing her eyes and examining the writing. Wide, angular, almost boastful, but elegant. There even was a title: To my Proud Pursuer. Odd.

"I swear I've seen this handwriting before…" He heard her whisper, and started to read the poem, a brow arched in curiosity.

_As gently as a feather slides_

_Upon a lover's breast_

_In your hot flesh, as breath subsides_

_My lustful blade will rest_

_To chase you down in hunter's guise_

_Is not, in truth, my aim;_

_No, all I wish is the sweet prize_

_Of your defeat, to claim_

_I know you'll come to where the crown_

_Of my triumph awaits;_

_There you'll submit and you'll bow down_

_So don't delay our fates_

_As on your heart I mean to reign_

_With steel both cruel and warm_

_Come, with the strength of your disdain,_

_I swear I'll see you squirm_

An M, written with cutting lines, rested on the bottom of the paper, along with several anonymous comments: "oh, my! That was so passionate!", "such dominating tone, such lust, I love it!", "I'll be in my bunk", and, last but not least, "wow, that was creepy". She would've agreed with the last, if she wasn't having trouble wrapping her mind around what she had just read.

"It can't be. Not him", she whispered, and as she sucked air in helplessly she realized she had actually stopped breathing for a while. "He's not the type to write bad poetry about… wanting to stick his blade in… wait, maybe he is, he did have a copy of the Lustful Argonian Maid in his hideout, Goddess _help me_…"

"Uhm, is that from the guy you're supposed to be taking revenge on?" Erik, for once, seemed as puzzled as she was.

"It can't be… but it has to be…" She shook her head, in a desperate attempt to get reality to start making sense; failing that, she snorted, grabbing the poem and leaving the blade that had been used to put it up. "Let's go, Erik. This can't wait anymore. Someone has to die."

While she stomped away and he hurried behind her, his shield clanging against his armor as he clumsily tried to find the right pace, the young man had to wonder whether the sudden homicidal urge was more due to whatever slights this person had committed against her or the poem they had written. Then his mind wandered back to the delightful little piece he'd read about Joie and a lovely farmer's daughter bathing together in the lake, by the moonlight, and a stupid smile took the place of the confused frown he had worn until a minute before. Good thing he had managed to save that one. Next time, he would request something even dirtier… maybe involving shackles and whips. _So long as she doesn't find out…_


	2. The Poet Thief

The horse seemed to sense the urgency in its mistress's movements, and saved her the pain of spurring it, immediately starting galloping as soon as she pointed it to the right direction with a single neigh of understanding. Despite how much Joie enjoyed the company of some of the adventurers she had met in her travels, being finally alone was a pleasure. Travelling was faster when she didn't have to take care not to lose her companions on the way, and the icy cold wind on her face gave her a kick, a sense of freedom and savage fulfillment few other things did. Not to mention this was rather personal business.

He was waiting for them. If she didn't already know, the message he had left for her to find would've made it clear. He wanted them to be there, just one step behind him as he marked his victory upon them all. That could be a weakness ready to be exploited, but she knew better than to underestimate a man clever enough to be able to betray a whole guild of capable thieves over and over without them ever noticing. Which was why she still couldn't deal properly with the content of that message.

Poetry? Really?! Ripe with imagery of blades being thrust into bodies, lust and submission, no less? Could it be that the poem wasn't addressed to her, after all? She had only ever seen him as a sour, quiet man, a wall of authority separating him from the rest of the guild, at least until she witnessed him gloating above what could've become her corpse in a matter of seconds. That was the one time she had glimpsed something else; ambition, amusement, and a smug sense of satisfaction.

None of which excluded the image of a Mercer with a quill in his hand, thinking about rhymes and syllables, of course. But it seemed odd.

A few things did come to her mind. Like the way she had to roll her eyes when finding an immaculate copy of the Lustful Argonian Maid sitting on the table, right next to Mercer's plans for the Eyes of the Falmer's retrieval. It was such a terrible read. Joie herself could've written better erotic plays, she was certain of it – her own journal would make for a more titillating read, although she wasn't exactly eager to wave it around. _Oh well. I can live with the knowledge that I can write amazing pornography being kept a secret_. Still, that had been a rather unexpected find.

Another one was a thing that had happened a little more than a couple months before, while she was chilling in the Cistern and minding her own business. Back then, she had misinterpreted the events, but thinking about it now, _it made so much more sense_…

* * *

She was laying on her squeaky bed, an arm draped over her eyes to protect them from the light. It had all started with the unexpected find of a cabin in the woods while on her way back from a job, and then someone had invited her to have a taste of their fine Skooma, and, before she knew it, she was captive in a vampire's lair and had to fight her way out. It was becoming more and more clear that her days as a cheap Skooma dealer were over, and that to survive in Skyrim she really had to work on her skills as an adventurer. Or as a thief. Those paths were both working out fine for her, unlike her increasingly unsuccessful attempts of starting once again the business her siblings had taught her, or at least _tried_ to.

In the end, she had come out of it with a number of injuries of varied degree, her war axe and bow both slightly damaged and drained from any magical propriety, and a stabbing headache due to the quantity of Skooma she had decided to taste – _just checking if it's any good, _she told herself, and it did sound like a good idea at the time. Of course, she also felt a little nauseous now that she knew where that particular brand came from and the implications of having ingested it, but whining about it would do her no good. That would teach her not to stick in her mouth stuff she found in dirty, abandoned cabins.

At some point during the evening Sapphire had approached her, cackling wickedly and holding a sheet of paper to her chest, and, although she was a little annoyed to see that no one in the cistern had even thought of asking her whether she was fine after seeing her limp to her bed and drop onto it like a sack of potatoes, Joie appreciated the intrusion. At least she could focus on something that wasn't the pain… and despite what she might've anticipated, the members of the guild and her were even starting to form some kind of a bond. She could only figure the '_don't ask, don't tell_' policy was their own way of showing they were okay with her.

"Get that arm off your face. You have to see this", Sapphire stated, briskly shoving the written paper on her lap and sitting by her side. Joie made a show of rolling her eyes and letting out a sigh, but smiled to herself as she grabbed the mysterious letter and scanned it inquisitively.

"What is it?" Silly question. Just giving it a glance it was clear that it was a poem, although with several – mostly unreadable – corrections. The messy way it was written down made it clear it wasn't made to be shown to anyone. A further reading only confirmed that impression.

_While thoughts of flesh and heat plague one man's head_

_And threaten to take over on his mind_

_How can he spin his web of sin instead?_

_Shouldn't he want to be both deaf and blind?_

_Too loud the laugh and sighs, as if to mock,_

_Too much the skin tempts into giving up_

_What should instead be goals and ends to stalk;_

_How does a man keep strong and pass the cup_

_That so defiantly avoids his grasp?_

_Or maybe if he took it and then drank,_

_Despite all things, the poison of such asp_

_He'd find it so much easier to yank_

_It off his chest, the lovely, monstrous beast_

_That on his heart so cruelly wants to feast._

A jagged line separated this fully developed poem by what seemed to be thoughts written haphazardly, the roughness of the quill marks betraying the nervous hand behind them.

_Curse her, curse her to Oblivion! She is testing me, I know it. She senses the tension behind my actions, and tries everything she can to catch my eye, everything short of undressing right in front of me, to see whether I will give in and take her or I'm too much of a coward. This is quickly becoming a distraction, and I can't afford it._

_But by the gods does she look like she could swallow me whole… a tempting thought, to try that mouth of hers, violate it thoroughly, the mere thought causes me to stiffen… And those lovely, delicate hands… Or to wipe the smug grin off her face and replace it with a look of pleasure…_

_Note: write down more about this 'swallowing whole' deal, it sounds promising. Good imagery. Will need to write down something a little more explicit. Maybe putting down these things I can't say on paper will help. I don't know. I'm ready to try anything by now._

Joie read it with a sort of hunger, as if every line prompted her to go further down… and let out a little chuckle as soon as she reached the end, still not too sure what to think of it. "_Oh my_. This is…" She glanced at Sapphire, who only grinned wider, and shook her head. "Where did you find it? Did someone we know…?"

The other woman leaned down on the bed, taking the sheet of paper from her hands and dangling it in front of her face. "I found it laying around in this very room. Someone must've lost it." She stopped speaking, looked around to see if anyone was looking at them, and started whispering to her in a conspiratorial way. "Don't you get it? We have a poet hiding amongst us!" Another pause, shorter, before she added with emphasis: "And he's _horny_!"

For some reason, that prompted them both to burst out laughing in a very undignified way. A poet thief. A horny one. Now that was an interesting thought. Gods, her body ached already due to all the fighting and walking, the laughter that was shaking her sides was just the coup de grace she was waiting for.

It took her quite a while to recompose herself, and, while she briskly removed the tears forming at the corners of her eyes, Joie shrugged, trying hard to get the smile off her face. "Awww. That's pretty adorable. In a thoroughly creepy way. But it wasn't so badly written, I mean, there was effort behind that…"

"True… which excludes Vipir."

"That's so mean." She laughed again. _And I love it_. "Maybe Thrynn? He looks like he would be deep enough to write something like that… underneath the muscles and warpaint… maybe his heart beats for a woman he can't have…"

"My bet is on that good for nothing Niruin. He fancies himself a refined man, but you've seen how much of a pervert he is... Or Brynjolf. I don't know, does he look like he would write filthy poetry to you?"

"He _might_… I'm not sure though, maybe not…"

For a while after that, the presence of a depraved poet thief amongst their ranks remained an inside joke between Sapphire and her. And later that evening, while Mercer chewed her out for not being careful enough and risking to ruin their business with her silly adventuring, Joie just couldn't understand what she'd done wrong…

* * *

As the chilly air lashed her face, her trusted horse galloping steady towards her goal, Joie remember that night, thought about it over and over, and wasn't so sure anymore whether she should laugh or worry.


	3. One last dance before the end

The arrow struck its target, quiet and deadly, and despite how far she was from the bandit that was now falling to the ground, mouth open in a silent scream of pain as the point stuck from his throat, Joie could swear she heard the dull sound of it hitting; a low, brief vibration, a single moment that saw her whole body tensing and then relaxing, not too unlike an orgasm, her lips twisting into a crooked grin.

Sometimes she worried about what things like that made of her. The kind of predatory pleasure she felt in landing a particularly precise blow, in putting her life on the line, in seeing someone walk right past her as she waited in the shadows. Even now, she realized she shouldn't be there, playing with those poor sods and using them as target practice. She should be a little further out, outside from the ruins, waiting a few more hours for Brynjolf and Karliah to arrive, so that they could slip inside and get the bastard before he left with the key and the eyes. But where was the harm in killing a couple of bandits while she waited? She could even enter, clear a few rooms before they came. They would recognize her arrows sticking from the corpses, every single one of them dyed a dark green hue, and reach her before anything bad happened. It sounded easy enough.

Or maybe that way she would alert Mercer, and he'd escape with the key, and that was definitely not a good thing. Not that any of them was in a hurry, of course, and especially not him. Had he been so, he wouldn't have left his plans for them to find, wouldn't have left that odd message; no, it was a challenge meant for all three of them to face, and, if what she'd gathered from his behavior this far was correct, their former guild master wasn't planning a quick hit and a silent escape. He wanted his victory to be as loud and clear as possible, and his pursuers to be exactly one step behind him, with him barely out of their grasp. A lot of things could go wrong with that plan, of course, and that was exactly what the Nightingales were hoping for – a step in the wrong direction, a single mistake could damn him faster than he could invoke Lady Luck. Still, putting him with his back against the wall when she wasn't ready to face him was not something Joie wanted to do. It would end horribly. As in, _blade-to-the-gut, complete-failure_ horribly.

The falling snow was starting to collect on her shoulders and head, and she snorted, absently aiming at another bandit. The arrow met his legs while he ran towards his fallen comrade, causing him to fall on his face upon the icy cold ground; another one silenced him a moment before he could scream for help. Joie sighed, shaking the snow off her body. That one had been sloppy. She was thinking too much, holding back her instincts, and the cold weather was starting to make it hard to concentrate: not a good combination. Even the idle thoughts that had entertained her during her journey had soon faded in favor of the most pressing matter; she was alone, and he was inside, and he had something she would really appreciate recovering before its loss sealed its mark upon her soul and damned her for eternity.

Which, she hated to admit, had to take priority even over any act of revenge. Maybe her tarnished soul wasn't worth much, but she would hate it, to leave the guild in the mud after they had taken her in and become the only family she could ever hope to have. And Brynjolf… no, _every one_ of them deserved better than that.

She only realized that the cold weather was turning into a snowstorm when she felt the heavy fur cloak tugging at her shoulders, swayed by the bitter wind. _The last few arrows did follow odd curves_… she shook her head and sighed, hitting the last one deep in the chest, and stood. Too many thoughts; it surprised her that an horker hadn't snuck up on her, seeing just how absent minded she was acting. With weather as bad as that, the only thing she could do was to wait inside and warm herself up. Hopefully the others wouldn't have too much trouble reaching the spot.

As she opened the heavy doors, glancing inside before proceeding to make sure it was safe, she could only grimace, and scold herself. She liked it better when she was thinking of mysterious poetry and lustful verses. At least she could aim properly while she giggled.

* * *

The wait was quickly turning out to be absolutely maddening. She had tried to force herself to sit on her hands and not touch anything, but patience had never been her strong point, and what little she had started to run thin after no more than twenty minutes of idleness. The clicking, smacking sounds of mechanical spiders eternally working on the mysterious dwemer pipes and mechanisms turned from unsettling, to entertaining, and, finally, annoying. Had she brought her journal she could be scribbling something, but all she had were the sheets of paper torn from the notice board at the bard's college, and reading pornography didn't sound like an activity fit for dungeon delving and rampages of revenge.

After what seemed like an eternity, dawn had come. Very close to the time of their rendezvous, which meant the others would be there soon, if the snowstorm hadn't delayed them too much. She just had to wait, and be patient, and it would be alright… the bodies on the ground proved that Mercer was already inside, and had been for a while, judging by the way the blood collected on the pale stones. The whole place was probably rigged with all sorts of traps and obstacles. If she moved alone, she risked setting off something that would alert him. If he was alerted somehow, he would either flee with the Skeleton Key, or attack her while she was alone, and make sure this time she stayed dead. She repeated it in her head once, twice, ten times, and then more.

Now if only she could convince herself that those risks weren't worth a little distraction…

_Oh to hell with it. I'll take a walk before I go insane_. She stood up, by now no longer reluctant at the thought of leaving the warmth of the fire and delve further into the ruins. Her friends weren't so far behind her, she was sure. They would catch up soon and fix whatever mess she left behind, which may not have been the best point to start, but was a relieving thought nonetheless. _It's not like I'm going to walk straight into a trap and get caught, anyway, it's just an innocent little walk, that's all_…

Ten minutes later, she would've gladly smacked herself for being such a reckless idiot.

* * *

Avoiding the first part of the trap had been easy. The scalding hot steam would be released upon her only a second after she stepped on that section of the pavement, and, since jumping and rolling beyond it wasn't an option, the labyrinth of pipes making the corridor too cramped for any sort of acrobatics, all she had to do was to run very quickly and hope for the best.

Which, in this case, meant that she was now hanging from the ceiling, a brass mechanism holding her thighs in a viselike grip. She wasn't sure how exactly it had happened, but she knew that it had been fast, unexpected, and utterly ridiculous, and that finding herself suddenly upside down hadn't been kind to her stomach. Wiggling out of it didn't seem like an option, either. _Well, shit_.

"I never thought you'd be stupid enough to fall for that", came a voice from further down the corridor, someplace above her. Her back tensed, icy cold tingles washing over her skin as she tried to determine where exactly he was talking to her from, and she listened, unmoving. _Shit, this was the worst idea ever_. "It appears I was wrong." There was something resembling amusement and disdain underneath the disapproving words, but it was shrouded in indifference. It wasn't the first time Mercer spoke to her like that, in a deliberate attempt to get her to feel small in his presence, and, while she hated to admit it, it usually worked. _Shit how do I get off this thing shitshitshitshit_.

"It does look like I fucked up, doesn't it?" Her attempt at mirth was unconvincingto say the least, but at least her smile never faded. Joie resumed trying to free herself from the unknown device, flexing to place her fingers around the mechanisms holding her thighs, then noticing a lever not too far from her. She extended an arm towards it. _Barely out of reach_. But maybe in a couple of tries she could get to it? "Just leave me a moment to get this thing off me, and I'll be all yours…" There was strain in her voice as she did all she could to put her hand on the lever, but it looked like it was just too far for her. What she did manage to understand was that the trap was a heavily modified version of the charging structures that sometimes enclosed those huge dwarven centurions.

Five steps came from above her, the thin metal resonating under his feet. He moved slowly, without betraying any sort of anxiety, even as he climbed down the platform and resumed walking towards her. "Did you really think you would accomplish anything by coming here alone? Look at yourself. The proud huntress reduced to a squirming prey." He was at eye level with her now, and Joie could see the smirk on his face, and the malevolent gleam in his eyes. "It's the second time you find yourself at my mercy. I'm starting to think you'll never learn…"

The young woman forced herself not to stop smiling; after the poor display of her skills she had granted him, she felt that the least she could do for such a worthy enemy was to avoid showing any weakness. And it did come easier if she thought back to those poems… "It's just that… _Guildmaster_…" She allowed her voice to dip low, to turn sultry as she called him with his former title, her voice like rich honey concealing a poisonous core of disdain. "After I read that message you left me in Solitude I just couldn't help myself." Oh, why was he kneeling now? And why was he grabbing her arms, forcing them to be joined at the wrist and into… _oh_. He was going to place her hands in shackles, made of the same opaque brass that surrounded them. Something told her that, while it had been most likely moved and modified to suit his current needs, that device was specifically created by the dwarves themselves with the intention of trapping people. And those machines were usually rather effective. She struggled not to let him chain her, but he tugged at her arms hard enough that she was certain he would break them unless she gave in; she did so, the smirk fading just the slightest bit. His, meanwhile, only grew wider.

"Eager to prove me wrong, weren't you? To make _me_ kneel and accept defeat. Except I have the upper hand. I always did." He stood up, casually letting her cloak pool at the ground with a brisk tug at the small chain that still held it to her shoulders. While that allowed her to feel a little more comfortable, without such a weight to pull her down, the indifference with which he moved made her feel uneasy, and she had to steel herself not to show any signs of worry. He wouldn't kill her yet. He still had the advantage, she knew he wouldn't risk ruining the scene he had been planning for them. Luckily enough, he still didn't have his back against the wall. "I've been following you for a while before coming here. I've seen you playing the heroine. Do they even know what you really are? A vicious, whorish scoundrel who'd sell her own mother for a little more power… a little more gold. We're not so different." He pulled the lever she had been so stubbornly trying to get to, and the world turned upside down again.

Well, _downside up_. Or whatever.

"Now I'm hurt. I do enjoy helping people and saving the world, you know?" She looked around to assess the situation, trying to ignore the way her stomach protested at all the twirling and turning around. Some of the things she held in her backpack fell to the ground, with various clangs and thuds, but thankfully no crashes. _Blasted dwemer and their blasted devices_. "The fact that I enjoy stealing gold and shiny jewels more has absolutely nothing to do with that." _Curse them to Oblivion_. Most of the pipes that previously cluttered the corridor had shifted, clearly a part of the complicated machinery; her arms were lifted up above her head by the chain, and she was forced to keep on her toes not to put all of her weight on her wrists. Her legs were held firmly in place and parted by the same bind that previously held them together, which had split into two similar, smaller ones. "And _I_ don't betray friends." She spat out, her smirk finally giving in to be replaced by a sneer. Mercer, in turn, offered her a grin that could make the icy waters of the port of Windhelm turn into a boiling pit of utter hatred. _You complete utter asshole why do you make me feel so… so… _

"_Friends_", he chuckled, his voice a deep rumble that echoed all around them. He let his hand trail down her waist, then to her thigh… then upwards again, with an infuriatingly slow pace, so much that Joie wasn't sure anymore whether she was furious at him because of what he'd done or because he was deliberately turning her on. Well, probably both. Joie had to admit that she could think of worse places to be than bound and chained in front of a man with a voice that could turn her knees to jelly. Whom she hated deeply.

_By Nocturnal, we're supposed to be killing each other! There's something wrong with the way my brain is wired._

She had to say something, and she had to do it quickly, before he had any chance to cement his advantage. "So. You were the one writing those naughty poems I found in the cistern once?" _Bad. Choice_. She could see him frown, and that couldn't be a good sign, but it was hard to stop now that she had started. "Maybe you should've fucked more, plotted betrayal less. Who was the lucky object of your lust, hm? The… how was it? _Lovely, monstrous beast_? I bet it was Maven."

The tugging she felt at her stomach now was less arousal, and more fear. He gripped her chin, his fingers digging into her skin hard enough that they might leave bruises, and forced her to lock gaze with him, a seething glare passing through her and leaving her feeling chilly. He held her like that for a few seconds, before the tension in his body eased a little. "You know, Joie…" Mercer let go of her chin, starting to unlace with expert movements the belts that held her leather jerkin closed in the front. "I would've done this while you were paralyzed on the ground, but with Karliah around somewhere? No, that would've been suicidal. I had to kill you and leave. Always regretted it." He bent over her, his mouth closer and closer to her ear, and once she could feel the shadow of his breath dancing on her skin, she shivered. _Shitshitshitshit it was me_. While a tiny part of her was worried, the rest was… excited. "I'm glad we can set this thing right before our final showdown…"

By the time his hands snuck past her armor, grabbing roughly at her breasts through the linen shirt she wore under it, Joie had made a decision. Not that it was a real choice, of course, what with her being tied up and unable to refuse him, but surprising him by leaning into his touch gave her a sort of twisted satisfaction she couldn't help but revel in. "Fine, my dearest _Guildmaster_… since you've wanted it for so long, I'll be yours..." But, unlike how he had written, she wasn't planning to bow down and submit. "At one condition."

His smirk took its place back on his lips, but this time it had a predacious quality to it. Amused, yes… but also intrigued. "It seems to me that you're hardly in the position to barter." His thumbs were rubbing against her nipples, making them stiff, but his eyes never left her face. He was right, of course… but she'd die before admitting that he was winning this battle.

"While you fuck me I want to hear your filthiest verses. Your most forbidden desires. I'm curious about what kind of lusts would make a man like you bend his knee", she purred, her tone turning back to sultry and seductive, and she bit down onto her bottom lip as she saw his jaw tensing, a calculating look in his eyes. He was pinching her nipples now, hard, trying to steal a squeal of pain from her, but all that she granted him was a sigh, her back arching slightly. Invitingly.

_To Oblivion with everything_. One of them would have to die in maybe an hour. There was no harm in having fun while they still could, right?

At first, as if he shared the same thoughts, the only response he gave her was a harsh tug at her shirt, both hands pulling at the fabric and tearing it open, revealing her breasts to his gaze. He passed his hands over them, and as she felt them glide on her bare skin for the first time a deep shiver shook her, straight across her back. He bent down to let his tongue circle around one of her nipples, the chilly air and wetness he left behind making it grow even stiffer, almost painfully so; then, he bit down harshly on it, and as he did so, one of his hands shifted slowly up her chest, to find her throat. Calloused fingers curled around it, not hard enough to choke her, just to prove to her how utterly she was depending on his mercy. With his teeth still pulling at her nipple, stubbornly, he lifted his head, letting the hard nub slip from his mouth at the very last moment, and bringing his lips to touch her ear.

"_My mouth is searing hot upon your skin_…" His voice, usually so deep and stern, trembled slightly at first, a change brought both by desire and by a sort of vacillation she couldn't quite make out. For some reason, she herself was winded, holding perfectly still as his free hand ghosted over her stomach, and only moved instinctively when his teeth found her neck, hungrily digging in her skin. Idly, she hoped Nocturnal could forgive her moans. "_The marks I leave will prove that you are mine…_"

Was that his blade she felt, slipping inside the front of her pants? She tensed, a whimper leaving her lips as the cold blade brushed ever so slightly against her sex. "_Whatever wish you hide and hold within… I'll take… bring it to slither down your spine_…" _Dangerous, dangerous, this is dangerous ohgodsyes_ – she sucked air in hungrily as soon as she realized what he planned to do, the hand on her throat making it harder to breathe. His voice had found its usual confident tone once again, and now he was taking his time as he tore her clothes off, leaving her helpless and bare in front of him. Not completely naked, of course, that would be too easy; no, he was making it so that everything but what mattered was covered. It was both humiliating and exasperatingly arousing.

Still holding his dagger, he slipped his fingers between her folds, shifting to watch her intently as he explored her body thoroughly. Joie's hips rolled to meet him, but his grip on her neck tightened slightly, enough to urge her to stand still. "_With every breath you'll sing your song of lust_", and he smirked as he said so, lips almost touching her own as he roughly thrust the hilt of his weapon inside her sex, eliciting a loud moan and a twist of her hips. She stilled herself immediately, and found that doing so earned her a look of approval. "_My lute of dark desires, you will scream_…" Could she get any more subservient? He was fucking her with his dagger now, not thrusting it fully inside, as he obviously wasn't holding it by the blade, but just enough to make her moan, more due to how utterly twisted and depraved the situation was than to actual, physical pleasure.

And he looked so smug, too. Smug, infuriatingly so, reveling in the way she followed her unspoken orders. His hand left her throat, caressing her skin almost gently until it reached her stomach, making her walls twitch at the thought of where he would touch her next; then, he pulled back completely, removing the hilt from inside her, and leaving her dazed and confused, trying hard to steady her breathing.

He was stepping behind her. She heard him fumbling with his belt, and sighed, arching her back as if to offer herself to him; was it the end of games, already? Would he finally fuck her hard and be done with it? _Obviously not_, she thought, with a disappointed whine, as she finally felt his flesh rubbing against her wetness, only parting her inner lips, rubbing back and forth, slowly, steadily. "_You're thrown into the fire at every thrust_…" She pushed back again, almost impaling herself upon him, and that's when she felt a stinging pain upon her bottom. His hand moved again, quick and heavy, to spank her as he pulled her by the hair in order to speak every word directly into her ear. "_And your sweet pleasure burns me just like steam_", he muttered, a dark growl, as he shifted both his arms around her, one to her waist, the other to her neck, holding her close.

His shaft kept teasing her slit, sending her mind tumbling down a spiraling staircase of lust, frustration and helplessness.

"Mercer gods damn it just fuck me and be done with it", she snarled, a flurry of heated words, but weakly, merely a plea as she tried hard to snap out the mindset he had somehow managed to lock her into. She realized she would do just about anything so long as she could feel him inside, which made it a good thing that she was completely unable to move her arms and legs.

"Not. Done. Yet." He pulled at her hair again, as jagged fingernails dug into the skin of her hips, every word a barked order, loud enough to make her jump slightly in response. "Learn some damned patience", He added, but there was a hint of a smirk on his face as she turned to see him, just a second before his lips crashed against her own, his arm slipping back around her neck as the other hand found its way to her clit. The assault at her sex was just as rough as the one to her mouth, fingers rubbing down hard against her swollen nub, teeth smacking against hers before his tongue invaded her parted lips; once again, he refused to allow his mouth to leave her body before biting down, this time on her bottom lip, briefly, but hard enough to draw blood. She would've yelped in pain, but she was too busy whimpering for the sudden pleasure.

"_Your liquid heat that swallows every thought_", another twitch of his fingers, another whine from her lips, "_You'll taste it on my skin, I wish it so_", and his arms exchanged positions, as he brought his coated fingers to her mouth, forcing her to suck on them, to taste her wetness on him. "_For I will have you now that you are caugh_t", his hips shifted somewhat, and she felt the head of his member pressing against her slit, angling itself so that it could slip in, and almost screamed in delight at that, "_Yes, all at once, violate, defile, and grow_ – oh _fuck_ Joie how are you so tight", and this is where she really screamed his name, as she felt his thick hardness burying itself inside her fully.

All the teasing had left her oversensitive; the first couple of shallow thrust almost drove her over the edge, but it was when Mercer regained his composure and started pounding hard into her, still holding onto her as if he wanted her body to melt into his own, panting and groaning against her ear, that her head started spinning, and her vision grew clouded with flashes of light. She was nearly there, just a couple more times… "_A-and grow… the harsher wants I stifled in my mind... Bring them to life, with my teeth… on your flesh…_"

She came, and she came hard, her walls tensing around him and pulsating wildly, and he had to be feeling that too, because his breath grew even more erratic, making it harder and harder for him to keep speaking; yet his voice grew firmer, more determined, as he kept fucking her without allowing her even a second of rest, not even the smallest truce. "_Inside your depths my core to yours entwined… Till to the thrill we fall, then start afresh!_"

Just as the waves of her orgasm subsided, his hips shifted again, changing the angle at which he pushed into her and sending the head of his cock to crash hard against her most sensitive spots. Joie found herself pulling at the chain that kept her arms trapped, a desperate need to touch him taking over her. She would grow hoarse, if she kept moaning like that, but it didn't matter. All that mattered now were the spots at which their bodies were joined, their skin touched. Before, she had felt cold, but she could be out in the snowstorm for all she cared and the heat that radiated from him would've still seemed too much. And the way he spoke those verses, the way they resonated in her mind… Joie whimpered, his thrusts growing brisk and deep, almost in time with the words that left his mouth.

"_Now and again…! Now and again… give in!_" One of his hands left her hips and was brought up to cup her swaying breasts, as the other still grasped at her throat. "_The scorching of your touch, the siren's song… are white snow to my fire! Prayer to my sin! Under my siege is where you now belong…_" By now, she wasn't sure anymore whether he was reciting by heart, or improvising. It sounded all too passionate to be a tune rehearsed in his mind a thousand times. Her whole body felt weak, and she collapsed, allowing the device and his arms to be the only things keeping her from falling to the ground, abandoning herself to the feeling of his hips against her.

For a few seconds, he was silent, and the only sounds were distant clangs and their panting, with a moan scattered here and there. There was a different sort of urgency in the way he pounded into her, now. He was getting closer, and, once again, so was she. "_We bleed… and fight… you heat and I ignite…_" There were mere whispers, rasping at her ear with scalding hot breath, followed by a harsh bite to her neck. This one would leave a mark, and bleed, but it only served to push both of them further down towards their climax. "_Our lust and spite… both searing light and night…_"

His thrusts grew shallow as he spilled his seed inside of her, and this set her off, her screams of pleasure almost desperate now that she could feel him leaving her body, the warm wetness immediately starting to drip down as her walls twitched with longing. Then, slowly, it all started to subside. His arms left her, allowing to slump a little more forward, resting her weight on her wrists, and she closed her eyes, slowly managing to bring her breathing to a more regular pace. She felt him touching her once again, hands grasping at everything they could reach before he stepped around her and pulled her by the hair into another kiss, this time less hungry, but just as passionate.

They stole a glance at each other at the same time, and stayed there, motionless, for a few seconds. There was a moment in which, though Joie couldn't tell exactly why, their eyes grew hard, an exchanged glare cutting deep amongst the softness of the afterglow. Then he stepped back, recomposing himself, and the smugness with which he did so caused her to roll her eyes, while she was still trying to stand upright – and failing to. "Hope you enjoyed that, since it's the last you're ever getting from me", she teased, mirroring his grin, and they both burst out chuckling, despite the darkness behind her words. And maybe exactly because of that.

"You're wasted", he muttered, fingers teasing her breasts just as she finally managed to stand. "Wasted with those imbeciles. Wasted with Brynjolf." _Brynjolf._ Why did it always have to come down to him? Goddess, what would he think of her? The cold hardness between them returned for a moment as she jerked away from his touch, a rush of panic surging through her mind.

"Keep him out of this, Mercer, I'm warning you…" How long had they been fucking? The others could arrive any time now…

"He's as much in this as you are, you little _idiot_, you know it well. And it's telling enough that you've been in everyone's bed, you've fucked even _me_, but him" He snorted, shaking his head, and she pulled hard at the chains, a savage rage taking place in her mind. "Him, never. What is it, your twisted way of telling him he's special?"

"Keep that up and I shout your face off", she growled again. "This wasn't about him."

"No. It's about me. And about how you're a fucking waste, even if you're a whore and a hypocrite." That seemed to be the end of it, although it left her somewhat puzzled, somewhat uneasy. He grabbed his dagger from the ground, where it had fallen from his hands, and put it back into its sheath, without even looking at her. Oh gods, was he _jealous_? Was that the point of that whole conversation?! She stared, speechless, as he turned his back to her, starting to walk away. "Well, I guess you're going to have a hell of a lot of explaining to do, now. I'll be waiting, don't worry. Wouldn't want you to miss the real main event."

She opened her mouth to speak, wide eyed and confused, before realization suddenly struck at her. _You must be fucking kidding me_. She was bound to a weird dwemer trap, half her clothes torn off, with bite marks all over her body, a bleeding lip and _his fucking seed dripping from between her legs_. Brynjolf and Karliah would assume it had been forced, of course, but that didn't make it any less awkward. "You unbelievable asshole! I'm going to gut you, you heard me? Gut you like a pig! Don't leave me like this!"

She heard him bust out laughing, as his figure suddenly turned invisible, and that infuriated her even more. "I'm going to miss you", came from between laughter.

"**YOL TOR SHUUL**!"

The river of flames flowed freely, without meeting its target, and she struggled with renewed energy against her bonds, yelling curses at the empty air in front of her until a sound of enormous doors opening, somewhere a few rooms behind her, made her tense and shiver.

Cold air swam though the whole first floor to the ruins, and something came rolling on the ground, a metallic clang making her fear for the worst at first. But, no, it wasn't an especially small version of a dwemer centurion. Only the Wabbajack, its mouths wide open in what normally looked like a scream, but now seemed to her the beginning of a bout of raucous, mocking laughter. The steps, as muffled as they were, resounded on the ground, growing closer by the minute.

That was going to be an interesting conversation.


End file.
